


My youth is yours

by GayAsDumbledore



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: F/F, Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 01:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8036308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayAsDumbledore/pseuds/GayAsDumbledore
Summary: Basically a very short story about Trixie and her parents and Keris and life and happiness. (Because the other project I’m writing one is kind of a sad one, so I need a bit happiness.)





	My youth is yours

**Author's Note:**

> Thank y’all so much for your lovely comments! They motivate me so much to write more of this!   
> As always: I apologize for grammar and spelling mistakes AND these characters do not belong to me, I only borrowed them from the one and only Rainbow Rowell.  
> This oneshot is just extremely random. I have this thing in my head where Trixie’s parents are just massive dickheads and don’t respect her sexuality, because COME ON, not everyone is okay with homosexuality (sadly) and since this wasn’t a huge aspect in Carry On, I wanted to talk about it a bit more.  
> So I hope you enjoy this random piece of trash, I personally think Trixie and Keris are the cutest couple ever.

There’s a notebook on the table.

I like to open it and look at the pictures in it nowadays.

Every time I see them, I think: “This is what we looked like once.”

Because now, we look so different. Even though we are the same people.

I’m Trixie.  
I always was.

But in those pictures, I am another Trixie.

Maybe it’s because I was young.  
Maybe it’s because I was in love.  
Maybe it’s because I thought I could change the world.

 

There’s text too in this notebook.

My handwriting looks as scrawled as it looks now, but I can’t find this bluntness in it anymore.

The sentences are long. I can’t remember a time when I could express myself without writing paragraphs about the issue. I always had to wrap my sentiments and opinions into a thick layer of words to describe them. Because that made them sound so good.  
Because that made them relatable.

 

When I read it now, I always think that I used to be so irritating.  
I can’t help it, but my open, critical appearance makes me cringe and annoys me at the same time.

And after some time, the same question is whispered into my ear by my self doubt.

“How could anybody possibly love you?!”

 

I tried to answer that question a thousand times.

Because since I was told my sexuality was wrong and made me a bad person, I was embarrassed of myself and so self-conscious it hurt.

 

Keris changed that.

When she first told me that she loved me, I thought it was a joke.

But the longer we were together, the more confident I grew. And one day, I eventually believed what she said.

Because I trusted her. And I knew she was telling the truth.  
Deep down, I always knew it.   
I always knew our love wasn’t a bad thing, it was completely fine, god damnit it was LOVE.

Her arms around my waist and my mouth on hers felt so good they never could be a sin.

It couldn’t be a sin that whenever I looked at her, my insides tingled and I felt my heart expand.

It couldn’t be a sin that whenever she touched me, I caught fire and Merlin, did burning feel good.

And even if it was a sin, I never wanted to stop being a sinner.

Hell couldn’t be that bad if I was going to be there with her.

 

I wondered what happened to my recklessness.  
I wonder it the same way as I wonder what happened to the brute inside my father’s eyes once my mother died.

The last time I saw him, he cried.  
I thought I was going to cry too, at first, but then he started talking about how god wants to punish him by giving him a queer daughter.  
I left.

I couldn’t take it anymore, 22 years full of praying and shouting and throwing made me feel more tired than I ever felt in my whole life.

22 years since I came out to my parents.

Sometimes I still think that I never should’ve told them.  
But then I think: “What’s wrong with telling the truth? What did I do wrong?!”

Because I did nothing wrong.  
Their reaction was wrong.

 

Today, I look at Keris and just feel at home.

Last week we celebrated my birthday.  
I turned 28, which isn’t a big deal, I know, but it was for me.

Because when I was laying on the couch with Keris and we watched my favourite movie, I looked over at her, and felt a warmth rush through my body like a candle.

It felt like I finally found my happy place.

 

I could cast a patronus by thinking of her smile.  
Or the dimples on her cheeks.  
The little freckles on her arms.  
That one tiny scar she has next to her belly button.  
The hair that grows on her legs.  
Her long, slender fingers.  
The rolls on her tummy.  
Her voice.  
The way I can feel her looking at me sometimes.  
The way she kisses me goodbye before work.  
The way she kisses me hello after work.  
The way her self made hot cocoa tastes.  
The way her steps sound when she walks though the hallway.

I could think of so many things about her, and every single one would be powerful enough to scare away 100 dementors.

Because I might have lost the bluntness in my writing and the recklessness in my eyes and many other things, but I haven’t lost my love for Keris.

And I don’t think I ever will.


End file.
